Punishment
The heavy iron restraints pinched tightly, cutting into Hans' wrists as he was escorted down the wharf by the Arendelle Royal Guard. A shiver raked his body as his cold, wet clothes clung to his body; water dripping onto the wooden planks. His eyes strayed to the gazes of the delegates behind him, a mixture of poorly-concealed disgust and confusion painted their faces. Hans dropped his head in shame, his ears burned a fiery red. A hard lump seemed to form in his throat, but he refused to show any sort of weakness. He dared a last longing look at the kingdom of Arendelle that he failed so greatly to overtake. A slight frown tugged at his cold lips as he caught eye of the Queen and Princess. He scowled at their happiness before losing sight of them as he was dragged on board his ship: The R.L.S Legacy.
The pain in his wrists lessened significantly as the handcuffs were removed. Hans barely had time to rub at the raw lines on his wrists before he was unceremoniously shoved into the cell. He landed in an ungraceful slump on the floor, knocking into a wooden bucket and flipping it over his head.
A low groan escaped his dry lips before he pushed himself up to lean against the wall. The guards sneered contemptibly at him and spat at his feet before turning to leave. One of the expectorants had hit Hans in the face making him flinch with repulsion. He reached up to wipe away the offensive spittle and found blood staining his gloved fingers.
His nose gushed blood and the familiar, painful throb of a break slowly registered. The metallic taste disturbed his taste buds and made him nauseous. Hans carefully placed his thumbs on either side of his nose, probing the tender flesh until he could feel the break. With a quick, painful jerk he pushed his nose back into place, immediately causing the bleeding to slow and the pain to ease, at least a little.
Hans cautiously began to make his way to the wooden bed attached to the wall, despite the protest of his aching muscles. His skull pulsed with each heartbeat. Hans tried to rub out the migraine, but only seemed to make it worse now seeing dots in his vision. In that moment, his strength gave out and he instead resigned himself to curling up on the cool, hardwood beneath him.
He sighed a shuttering, agonizing breath. The seawater that he had swallowed, when he was punched overboard, had burned his lungs. He curled pitifully into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut, willing for this all to be some horrible nightmare, but when he opened his eyes again, all he could see was the small caged room he was in.
Hans shivered despite the warmth of the sun on his back. He felt so sick; everything swirled around him. He glanced at the wooden bucket that sat within reach, and without a second thought, he grabbed the bucket and retched.
As the crew walked back and forth to prepare for departure, Hans could hear them talking about him.
"Who would have known that His Highness would attack the Kingdom of Arendelle." A burly sailor sneered as he and his lanky companion hoisted another barrel of pickles to put below deck for the journey.
"He's a fool to think he could have successfully overturned the hierarchy." The other man chuckled shaking his head from his musings.
"Yet another failure to add to his exhaustive repertoire."
The lanky sailor noisily hocked a loogy and spat it overboard before voicing his agreement. "It's not the first and most certainly won't be the last."
An older sailor cussed them out viciously, shushing them and directing their attention to Prince Hans who was within listening distance.
They continued to murmur more quietly together as they carried the barrel to the open hatch, eyeing the prince apprehensively as they did so.
After hours of preparation and rounding up supplies for the journey, the RLS Legacy finally set sail. It would take months to arrive home, and Hans was dreading it; the very thought of going back to the life that he so desperately tried to rid himself of caused a shiver to trail down his spine. The nausea and anxiety ate away at him. It was all he could do not to tremble. He clenched his teeth hard making his head hurt more. Eventually exhaustion overtook him, and he managed to relax in his sleep.
Hans awoke early one dismal, foggy morning, shivering violently and absolutely drenched in sweat. He coughed, a thick, raspy sound; God it hurts to breathe. He coughed again and spat out the phlegmy aftermath.
He heard a faint rustling of keys and looked up to see the cabin boy, a lanky 15-year-old boy named Eli, pull the brig door open holding a tray of food.
"G'morning, Your Highness." Eli said cordially before stopping and slowly looking the prince over with a critical eye. "Are you alright, Sir?"
Hans narrowed his tired eyes in response, both in annoyance and exhaustion.
The teen looked frantically between the tray and over his shoulder a few times before taking the tray with him while shouting for the captain.
Moments later the cabin boy returned followed by Captain Regis, a burly and scruffy former Navy Lieutenant who averaged eight words and two facial expressions a week, and Doctor Ainsley, a relatively young doctor whose family had been working for the Westergaard family for the last three generations.
Dr. Ainsley looked Hans over. The prince was pale as a sheet and shivering, sweat soaking his clothes. The doctor pulled a watch out of his waistcoat to check Hans' pulse, then listened to his lungs, frowning as he put the stethoscope back in his bag.
"Well?" Captain Regis asked, his face slightly less scowled than usual.
"Pneumonia." Dr. Ainsley said glumly. "I suggest immediate bloodletting, willow bark tea twice daily, and a mustard plaster. Make sure he eats, preferably something bland, oatmeal perhaps."
The doctor turned to face Captain Regis with a sigh, "For His Highness to properly recover, I also suggest we move him to his quarters where he will be more comfortable, and we can better regulate his temperature."
Captain Regis made a gruff noise of agreement before exiting the brig with a slight limp. A moment later two guards came in and roughly grabbed Hans under his arms. Unable to support his own weight, Hans was dragged to his quarters before being laid down on the bed.
A muffled groan escaped him and his head was spinning wildly. He tried to calm his body by breathing slowly in and out, but could already feel the bile in his throat. He managed to turn to his side and lean over the bed before retching. The taste made him spew again. Hans coughed in-between gagging on his own sick. He dry-heaved a few more times before using his sheets to wipe his mouth and then, as he cautiously laid back down, he passed out.
A moment later Eli walked in with Hans' sick bucket only to stop as the stench assaulted his nostrils. He gagged as he noticed the chunks on the floor. With a frustrated sigh, he stalked into the kitchen to fill the bucket with cold water and then proceeded to mop up the mess as best as he could. Once finished, the young lad tossed the filthy water out over the side of the ship and, with a quick rinse, placed the pail by Hans' bedside.
Eli then took a moment to wipe Hans' sweat away and laid a cold, wet cloth over his fevered brow. No sooner had he done so, Dr. Ainsley strode into the room, placed his leather bag on the lone desk, and began rolling up his sleeves.
The doctor rapidly flipped his wrist back and forth as he passed an odd-looking blade over a leather strap several times.
"What's that, Sir?" Eli inquired, his interest piqued.
"A Fleam. It's for the bloodletting."
"How does it work?"
Dr. Ainsley rolled his eyes at the curious lad, but good-humoredly enlightened him.
"You use the blade to cut the veins or arteries needed, then use the tube on the opposite end to expel the bad blood into this cup." He held the ceramic cup in his hand as way of explanation.
Eli scratched the few, scraggly whiskers on his chin as he contemplated the procedure.
"So, you just shove it in his arm?"
"Not in so many words, but yes."
With the conversation seemingly finished, the doctor instructed Eli in making the mustard plaster and willow bark tea, he then turned to a very lethargic Hans and, in a single movement, tied a cloth tourniquet above his elbow.
He skillfully bled Hans as Eli watched, both horrified and intrigued by the sight. After collecting a few pints, he bandaged the wound site, gathered his supplies and left Eli to the cleanup.
When Hans finally awoke, it took him a few moments to realize he was laying in his personal quarters instead of the musty, rat-infested brig. He could vaguely remember people talking, but couldn't recall how he made it to his bed.
The scent of mustard and tobacco assaulted his senses. Hans lifted the thin blanket to see folded-up cheese cloth on his bare chest that he assumed must have had some sort of mustard concoction inside.
"Awake, are you?" A chuckle sounded from the desk on the opposite side of the room. Hans blinked rapidly to clear his tired eyes before focusing on the middle-aged man sitting at the desk. He was broad, with handsome black hair just beginning to show his maturity, combed in a fashionable way. He removed his thin reading glasses before closing his tattered copy of the American Journal of the Medical Sciences he was reading and placing them on the desk.
"Dr. Ainsley..." Hans croaked out through his dry throat. The doctor helped Hans to sit up against the headboard and handed him a tankard of water.
"You've been asleep for a few days, barely waking enough for us to get you to eat and have you drink the tea." Hans choked on the water, making him cough violently, and causing water to dribble down his chin.
Dr. Ainsley placed his big, rough hand on Hans' forehead and waited for a moment, "the fever finally broke." Next, he grabbed his stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs.
"He is still congested, so I would recommend we continue to follow the medicinal regiment we have been issuing. The willow bark tea we'll issue once daily now and progressively remove it from his system until he no longer needs it." Dr. Ainsley addressed his mutterings towards the end of the bed. Hans noticed then that Eli was also present, taking care to note down what the doctor was saying in his uneducated chicken scratch.
Hans flinched as the doctor's fingers were now prodding his tender nose. "Seems to be healing well, let's only use the tobacco salve on it for a few more days." Dr. Ainsley walked swiftly back to the desk where his bag sat open, neatly packed away his supplies and snapped the bag shut with a gentle, metallic click.
He then brought over a cup of tea. "Here, drink". Hans gingerly took the cup before breathing in the woodsy scent of the willow bark tea. He blew into the cup briefly before taking a sip; cringing at the bitter taste, though it did soothe his sore throat. After he drank about half, he placed the cup down much more heavily than he had intended.
"Get some rest, I'll see you tomorrow." Dr. Ainsley gathered his bag and left the room with a respectful bow of his head.
Hans examined himself as much as he could in his weakened state. His body ached and his arms were covered in bandages. He knitted his brows together in confusion.
"From bloodletting, Your Highness." The cabin boy piped up. Hans nodded mutely and brought his hand to his clammy face. He could feel a prickly beard growing in and bags under his eyes that showed how drained his body felt, but other than that wasn't sure how he looked without a mirror. His head thudded dully every so often, but Hans no longer felt like he would be sick.
Eli brought a wooden bucket of water over to the bedside and wrung out a cloth. He proceeded to give His Highness a sponge bath, as best as he could, to rid Hans of the sticky sweat that clung to his skin. Once done, Eli excused himself to help the cook prepare supper.
Hans, finally alone, sighed tiredly and closed his heavy eyes only to realize he couldn't fall asleep. Frustrated, he turned his head to face the port hole that was cracked open to allow fresh air to filter through. Hans breathed in deeply.
He couldn't see much from his current position, but could see some of the sky. He focused on the sounds around him: the ship creaking and moaning as the ocean waves pushed it gently along, the muffled voices of the crew on the other side of the closed door, and the occasional flapping of the sails in the wind. The white noise slowly lulled him into a heavy sleep.
The air had changed from the salty mid-day heat of July to the cool, misty mornings of October. Hans felt queasy, but this time it wasn't a sickness that overcame him. His chest was heavy, and it was difficult to control his breathing, but he somehow managed to keep face. He clenched his hands into fists to try to contain the trembling and took a moment to compose himself before a sharp knock at the cabin door startled him and without waiting for a response, Eli stepped in.
"We are approaching the Southern Isles, Your Highness. The captain sent me to assist you in preparing for departure." The boy quickly prepared a basin of hot water. Hans was scrubbed clean and was more than happy to have his unruly beard shaved off. Eli assisted Hans with changing into one of his nicer suits, then followed him out to the deck where two guards stood waiting to escort him.
Captain Regis and First Mate Erikson kept a watchful eye as the kedge anchors were loaded into two of the longboats and lowered, along with their crews, into the water.
Hans watched as the remaining crew pulled the ship up to where the anchors were being dropped. With every advance, Hans could feel his stomach tighten more and more, making him feel slightly ill. He briefly considered jumping ship and relying on his excellent swimming to help him escape the nightmare that inevitably awaited him on land, but ultimately decided against it, if for no other reason than his pride and the fact that he had nowhere to swim to. He would be a fugitive no matter where he went.
With a final pull and a cheer from the tired crew, the RLS Legacy had finally docked at port and the crew began disembarking and unloading cargo. The prince was, apparently, included in the latter category and was led in front of his horse, Sitron, up the dock to where a footman stood at attention with one of the Westergaard family's carriages.
He was sat in the carriage and listened idly to the coachman snapping the reigns to life and encouraging his team of horses forward. Hans' eyes didn't stray from his clasped hands that laid in his lap. He kept his breathing as calm as he could on the outside, but on the inside, he was a jumbled mess of dread. He hoped that an axel would break putting off their arrival, but no such happenstance prolonged their journey and soon enough the carriage had come to a stop at the enormous, iron-wrought gates bordering the castle of the Southern Isles.
Upon seeing the royal carriage, the guards atop the wall removed the barricades to allow passage and from there it was only a short half mile trip up the pristine cobbled road, through the front gardens, to the impending doors of Hans' childhood home.
The coachman brought the horses to a steady halt and the prince was ushered out of the carriage. The butler, housekeeper, and two footmen were waiting patiently to welcome their Master home; his family nowhere in sight.
The accompanying guards tightened their grip painfully on the prince and kept him moving through the corridors. Hans hardly noticed the maids, who bowed their heads and backed up against the walls as he was escorted by, but he could certainly feel their curious gazes on his back as he passed.
Hans could feel his heart plunge into his stomach as they stopped in front of a pair of large, ornate, oak doors. His desire to run was so strong that he took a subconscious step backwards. One of the guards knocked loudly on the door, the sound echoing against the marble flooring and tall ceilings. After what seemed like an eternity, the doors were pulled open by a couple of footmen.
The study was as beautiful as ever. An inviting blaze crackled welcomingly in the large granite fireplace on the far side of the room, emanating a warm glow and warming Hans' frigid fingers. Books lined the walls and towered high above with spiral staircases reaching high to the second level of the study, showcasing the enormity of the room. A massive solid oak desk sat in front of the bay window, the later straddled by deep crimson drapery with gold colored fringe, and papers had been stacked neatly on the desk along with various important looking tomes.
Sitting at the desk was a thin, elegant woman. She was in her 60s, but looked young for her age. Her silver-streaked hair had been pulled tightly away from her face in a neat chignon revealing soft, refined features, the gown she adorned, much like the drapes, was a deep velvety color that paled her flawless, porcelain skin, and upon her head, her crown glittered gently in the flickering light of the fireplace. She was distinguished and silent as she continued reading through the small stack of notarized documents before her, pausing to sign a few and occasionally sipping at her tea.
The air grew thick with tension as the silence ebbed on.
Finally, the woman cleaned out her quill and looked up at the guards, completely ignoring Hans' presence.
"Your Majesty, I brought Prince Hans to see you, as requested." The queen's face betrayed no emotion as she gave a curt nod of dismissal. The guards and footmen backed out of the room with a quick bow and the door clicked shut ominously behind them.
Silence buzzed loudly in Hans' ears as he waited, refraining from fidgeting. The queen stood from her desk. Her shoes tapped lightly on the floor as she calmly made her way over to him.
Hans shuddered.
Finally, she met his eyes and stared with her infamous disapproving glare that he always seemed to be at the end of. He tried to clear his dry throat to sound braver than he felt, but only managed to croak out:
"Mother..."
A sharp pain exploded across his face making Hans tumble gracelessly to the ground. His cheek burned a fiery red and tears pricked his eyes. He said nothing more and stayed in his fallen position. His mother then grabbed him by the hair, forcefully pulling his face level with hers to inspect it. Pleased with the angry red mark she had left, she shoved him back down and stood poised with cold, deadly eyes.
"How dare you dishonor my name, my kingdom, you worthless pile of filth!" Her heeled boots clicked rapidly over to her desk. She ripped a letter from it, causing several papers to cascade to the floor in the process.
"I received an official affidavit just days before your return, only to discover that we are now severed from ever working with or traveling to Arendelle again." She hissed, venom dripping from her words. "After months of you begging to go, to represent our family, you attempt to murder their Queen and Princess and usurp their kingdom? You've embarrassed me for the last time! You are every bit the despicable disgrace that your late father was." She seethed stomping towards him. She gripped his face harshly, digging her long nails into his soft skin.
"You are no longer worthy of the Westergaard family name," she spat angrily before standing, towering over him menacingly.
"Unfortunately, I cannot revoke your title, as that right is reserved only for the king. I will, however, attempt to cover up your short comings as much as I can to protect this kingdom's reputation." She let out an agitated snarl before sinking back into her chair. Reaching for her tea, the queen brought the cup delicately to her lips, taking a sip and frowning at the now cold liquid.
"You will go to your chambers for the remainder of the night and stay there. In the future, you are banned from showing your face out of doors ever again and you will join the family for dinner tomorrow night. That is not a request." Hans could feel her eyes burning into him, but he refused to meet her glare.
"You are dismissed." She snapped before ringing the bell for service. The footmen quickly came into the room barely glancing at the prince, who was gathering himself off the floor, and quickly poured Her Majesty a new cup of tea.
Hans was escorted to his room before he was finally alone. He knew the guards would be stationed on the outside of his door for the night, but at least inside he'd be alone.
He collapsed on his bed, back facing the door, and shuddered. He had certainly been expecting her assault, but was always unprepared for it somehow. He gingerly touched his cheek, which still burned beneath his fingers. The queen's nails had grazed him leaving four angry raised marks on the red hot, hand-shaped welt.
Now with no one's eyes trained on him, Hans could finally let it all go. Tears stained his face and sobs choked him. He could hardly breathe between his anguished cries. Even though his mother had clearly restrained herself this time, he couldn't help each new wave of sobs from racking his body.
His breaths became quick and shallow as his pulse began to speed up and his blood-pressure began to rise making him lightheaded. He could see the black tunnels growing in his vision as the panic attack grew worse.
Knowing that if he didn't calm down he'd pass out, Hans leaned forward on the bed until his head was between his knees and focused solely on breathing. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. He continued counting, as he had after so many encounters with the queen, until the tunnels retracted and his breathing stabilized. He sluggishly changed into his sleepwear not wanting to wait on his valet, let alone have anyone see him in his misery. Hans crept back into bed and hid himself in the fluffy comfort of his goose feather-filled blankets.
A small knock sounded at his door, before it opened without waiting for a response. Hans knew who it was without even needing to look. The middle-aged valet came in holding a silver tray in his gloved hands. Hans, still facing the wall, subtly wiped at his face to clear his long-dried emotions. He stayed where he was though, pretending to be asleep and listening carefully.
The newcomer set the tray down on the desk before picking up the few clothes that lay discarded on the floor. Not seeing much else for him to address, the valet knocked on the door signaling to the guards that he was done for the evening and left.
Hans laid there in silence for a moment before the scent of food wafted to his nose. His stomach growled eagerly. He ignored it defiantly at first until the hollow pain in his gut urged him from his cocoon of blankets. He entered his adjourning bathroom first to splash his tired face in the basin. He dried it on the nearby hand towel, then peered at his ragged complexion in the mirror.
Dark bags sat underneath his fatigued eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his pale face a bit gaunt as he hadn't had much of an appetite lately. The red handprint was already fading as Hans trailed his fingers along the mark. He sighed at his reflection and ran his hand through his dry, tangled hair.
He lumbered out of the bathroom before cautiously stepping up to the tray and removing the lid.
He stared at the decadent array of food that graced his eyes and nose: duckling cutlets in tomatoes and white wine, baby peas with butter and parsley, a green salad, and turtle consommé topped with quenelles and sautéed sweetbread. His stomach growled again as he realized how hungry he truly was. He sat at his desk and ate his supper for what felt like the first time in days.
Now full, Hans set the tray aside and retreated back under the comfort of the blankets. He curled himself into a ball and allowed himself to fall into the numb bliss of slumber.
"Wake up." An elderly woman cooed to the lump under the thin sheets. Her only reply was a soft groan of displeasure. The woman sighed and ripped the blankets from the bed.
"Ok, ok... I-I'm up." A petite young girl rose from the creaky old bed rubbing the sleep from her eyes and blinking tiredly at the woman in front of her.
"Really Malene, after two years of working here, you would think you could wake yourself up." The elderly woman chastised with a light chuckle. "Now, It's nearly 5 this morning, so you best hurry."
Malene rolled her amber eyes before ushering the woman out so she could change clothes. She stumbled out of her nightgown and slipped on her long black uniform. Approaching the small mirror on the wall the girl peered blearily at her frazzled reflection and reflexively grabbed the small horsehair brush. She deftly tamed her misshapen braid, rearranging her hair into a taut, high bun and tied her yellow ribbon around it before pinning the headband neatly into place. She shoved on her black boots, lacing them tightly and giving them a quick shine before finally throwing on her apron, tying it as she exited the room.
Making her way into the servants dinning quarters, Malene yawned and plopped down heavily in a chair next to her elderly friend, Edith.
The kitchen assistant, Poppy, placed a small bowl of porridge down in front of the hungry girl before moving on to serve the next person.
Malene shoveled a large spoonful of breakfast in her mouth before giving her friend a small awkward smile attempting to keep the porridge in. Edith smiled back, shook her head in amusement at the girl's impression of a chipmunk, and returned to stirring the honey into her tea.
As Malene continued to eat, she absentmindedly touched the ends of her hair ribbon and mulled over her chores for the day when an irritated voice broke the relative silence of her meal.
"I'm telling the truth!" The obnoxiously loud voice screeched, breaking Malene out of her reverie, while all still seated at the table tuned in to the commotion. The maid in question puffed her large chest out, feeding off the attention she was receiving, before continuing in a mock whisper, "Prince Hans was practically dragged in to the queen's study by at least half a dozen guards." Her piggish chin held high so she could peer down at those around her with a knowing sneer.
"How would you know?" A petite elderly woman challenged with narrowed eyes, her lips set tightly into a thin line.
"Oh, shut up Eunice!" The gossiper hissed, "my friend Gertrude saw the whole thing along with several other maids!"
"It's true, I saw it as well," squeaked out the timid, mousy brown-haired girl sitting on the other side of Malene. "Though I don't remember it being quite so many gua-"
"See, Eunice," Irma cut in, "I only tell the truth. I also heard," She added, her voice in a low, scandalized tone, "that he slaughtered the queen and princess of Arendelle!"
The maids and footmen gasped in horror and the room exploded in uproar at the very idea, spreading their fear like wildfire through the servants' hall. Everyone shouting at once to be heard over each other.
"Dear God, does this mean war?"
"Do you think the Southern Isles would even stand a chance against Arendelle's militia?"
Malene rubbed at her temples, a headache beginning to form from the noise. She rolled her eyes at the gossip, but couldn't help but feel her own fear creeping up inside her. She swallowed hard and tried to block out the noise by squeezing her eyes shut, but the ruckus persisted.
"What are you still doing in here?" Everyone quickly fell silent and stood to attention as the butler, Mr. Wiggins, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hodgesworth, came into the room. Malene realized a beat too late that Mrs. Hodgesworth was speaking to her. She stood in open-mouthed silence at the thin, crow-like woman, unsure of how to respond.
"Well, don't just stand there-"
"I hadn't informed her yet, Mrs. Hodgesworth," Mr. Wiggins cut in. He turned to address Malene whose brows were firmly knit together in confusion.
"Ms. Mogensen," He began, his hands gently gripping the food tray in front of him, "Her Majesty has requested that I select a female employee to become Prince Hans' valet. After careful deliberation, I have chosen you to fill the position."
"A female valet? Who's ever heard of such a thing?" A girl snapped from the end of the table. The room murmured in agreement.
"That's positively scandalous." Irma hissed to her neighbor.
"What an embarrassment for his majesty to have a young woman see him in all manner of undress." Eunice crooned. The very idea made her sick.
"What about his current valet? John Smith?" One of the footman asked with a sneer. Again, the room murmured in agreement.
"That has already been taken care of." Mr. Wiggins answered curtly.
"But why a woman? And if Her Majesty was so insistent on a woman, why Malene?" A stocky red-headed woman griped, jabbing her grubby, sausage-like finger inches from Malene's face. "She's new, most of us have been here longer and deserve the position more than she does."
Mr. Wiggins eyed everyone down, his stern, authoritative air silencing the room, and when the silence had finally settled in, he turned to address Malene once more, "My dear, we don't have a uniform prepared for you quite yet as it was such late notice, but you will be serving His Highness directly starting this morning, that is, if you choose to accept the position."
Malene stood in dumb-struck horror as she processed everything. She, a female valet? It's absurd! No one would take her or His Highness seriously again! She had no prior training in this field of work and the prince would be the laughing stock of the entire kingdom! But…
It was a sizeable raise…
Malene chewed her lip anxiously. This was a huge opportunity that she would be foolish to dismiss so easily. Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest. She darted her gaze from her sweaty palms back to the butler's waiting expression.
Her throat seemed to close up, preventing her from speaking. Instead she offered a curt nod in way of agreement, stepped over the bench, and followed Mr. Wiggins out of the servants' quarters. She could feel the glares and hear the gossip spreading already. She held her chin high, her eyes forward, and kept pace with Mr. Wiggins.
Mr. Wiggins turned to face his subordinate, his eyes softened a bit, and a smile graced his features. He handed her the large tray, containing what she suspected to be the prince's breakfast, then placed a large gloved hand on her shoulder, giving Malene a reassuring squeeze.
She adjusted her grip carefully carrying the heavy tray through the hidden servant halls and up two flights of stairs. Her boots echoed quietly against the marble flooring as she approached the door to Prince Hans' room. Malene nodded nervously at a passing footman. She took a deep breath, and, shifting the tray to one hand, she knocked, waited a beat, then pushed open the door.
The room was spacious, but seemed to lack any real personality. It was lavishly decorated in wine-colored velvet drapes, a thick oriental rug, silk tapestries from his many travels, and a large oak desk that sat facing away from the balcony windows. She placed the food on the desk and allowed herself to bask in the richness of the room.
An intricately carved bookshelf was filled with many thick, leather-bound books that seemed to be well worn from many readings. A massive armoire faced the bed against the opposite wall, which Malene was certain would hold only the finest fabrics, patterns, and vibrant colors. The bed was bigger than her room and most likely more comfortable than her own. The sheets were thrown back and disheveled, indicating that Hans was indeed home from his voyage.
Unable to resist, she approached the bed and gently trailed her fingers across the intricate pattern that had clearly been hand-stitched into the lavish, golden-bronze fabric.
"What are you doing in here?"
Malene's heart leapt to her throat as she spun around to see Prince Hans standing in the doorway to his bathroom. Heat radiated from her face as she quickly backed away from the bed, nearly tripping over her own two feet. Unaccustomed to addressing a member of the household, she stammered awkwardly, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Suddenly, her brain registered what he was wearing, or rather, the lack of what he was wearing. Hans, most likely waiting on his valet to help dress him, was still wearing his thin, cotton night shirt. Her face flushed even deeper and she quickly darted her eyes away, avoiding eye-contact. The only men she had seen in such a state were her own father and two brothers. It seemed highly improper to her to see His Highness in such a state of undress.
"I-I'm your new valet, Your Highness" she managed to squeak out.
It was silent, too silent. Did he leave? She dared a peak over at him and noticed he was now covering himself with a robe; his face completely void of expression. Concerned, Malene went to move towards him, but was startled once more as Hans hastily walked around her, threw the bedroom door open with enough force that it hit the wall, and rushed through it with purpose.
"Wiggins!" He hollered, halfway down the hall. Malene cringed at the unpleasant ringing in her ears from his outburst, but decided to stay behind and perhaps get a head start on tidying the room.
Hans stomped through the corridors screaming for Mr. Wiggins as he went. This had to be some sort of sick joke. He glowered at the maids as they scurried out of his way.
"Wiggins!" Hans screamed again.
The butler finally emerged from the room belonging to the king, Hans' eldest brother, and calmly met the prince halfway down the hall.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"What is the meaning of this? What happened to my valet, Mr. Smith? Why is there a maid in my room claiming to be my new valet? What is going on?!"
Mr. Wiggins waited patiently for Hans to cease his bellowing before speaking, "Her Majesty, the Queen, asked me to reassign a maid as your valet. I chose Ms. Mogensen as she is young and capable. Though she has only been here for a couple of years she has proven to be a fast learner and a responsible employee. Her Majesty and I both believed she would have the easiest transition. Your former valet, John Smith, has accepted a new situation as my underbutler."
Hans stood in silent rage. He slowly nodded his head as if having a hard time processing what had been said to him.
With a sharp 'tsk!' Hans abruptly turned on his heel and stomped back down the hall, fuming. He could feel his face turn a dark crimson as he realized the implications of having a woman as his valet.
Without any hesitation, Hans slammed his chamber doors open.
Malene jumped, eliciting a small squeak of surprise. She quickly finished turning down the sheets while Hans, ignoring her presence, threw the wardrobe doors open and began digging through the various clothes inside. After tossing a few articles onto the bed, he began to strip. Shocked by the sudden display, it took Malene a moment to register what was happening. Once the pieces finally clicked she thrust her hands over her eyes, scrambling to cover them in an attempt at issuing His Highness some small amount of privacy.
"Y-your Highness! Please, as your valet, I am supposed to dress you!" Although Malene knew this, she couldn't bring herself to move and act upon her declaration.
Hans, again, ignored her and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his dress shirt. He grabbed his trousers and thrust one leg into its corresponding hole. As he shoved the other leg through, his foot caught and a distinct ripping sound halted his movement.
Malene slowly moved her hands away from her face and glanced in the prince's direction. Hans shucked the trousers off, inspected the now large hole in the crotch, and growling in frustration, he tossed the trousers at Malene's face before digging out a new pair.
Malene stood there in stunned silence as gravity shifted the trousers off her head and face and, almost robotically, she began gathering them in her arms.
"Fix them." Hans stated in a clipped voice, not even sparing a glance in the girl's direction, as he pulled on the new pair of trousers a bit more carefully.
Malene nodded, then, remembering that he couldn't see her, added a quick, "Yes, Your Highness." Annoyed with Hans' bad attitude, and general lack of gratitude and manners, she stuck her tongue out childishly at the back of his head.
Hans suddenly turned towards her. Her tongue retreated back in between her lips so quickly she was afraid she'd swallow it.
"What are you waiting for?" Hans snarked, "Go."
Malene curtsied and hastily exited the room.
As she trudged down the hallways and hidden staircases, keeping out of sight, Malene grumbled angrily under her breath.
"Fix this!" She repeated to herself in a mocking, sing-song voice, loosely imitating the royal pain she had just encountered.
"What are you waiting for?" She continued, sashaying her hips to emphasis her jeering, "Christmas, I'm waiting for Christmas…. Lord, I need a holiday."